


with teeth and a heartbeat

by timequakes



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, sarah is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timequakes/pseuds/timequakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the first algarve game is a tough one for alex, but abby finds the icing on top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with teeth and a heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flickings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flickings/gifts).



> This is entirely Sarah's fault; that being said I have absolutely no regrets at all and I think everyone should spiral as hard over these two as I have. You don't have to ship them romantically. Usually we don't. Just appreciate them and I'll get off my soapbox, okay? It's 1:30 am and I'm talking in my author's note so I think I'll just stop it here and say thank you for reading / enjoy / leave me comments about what you liked!

It’s a rough game for her. 

It’s not a pretty game for any of them, except maybe Buehler and Dunn, but for Alex it feels like she’s been dropped into the body of someone well below her actual talent level. Tom hadn’t said much to her about it after the game, even though she had hovered around him for almost ten minutes waiting for the backlash she knew her play deserved. The most he had said was that she’d had a tough game, but that he knew she was aware of it, and to try to fix her sleep schedule. As if a game that bad could be chalked up to jetlag and not something else.

It’s Reece’s birthday and she knows she should be downstairs, but she’d rather stay in her room and wallow in her self-pity. It’s a funny thing, how she can pity herself and hate herself at the same time, and it’s not something she wants to share because it’s too stupid and self-centered, especially for a three-year-old’s birthday party. There’s some kind of TV movie on that she obviously doesn’t understand, aside from the title, “Destino Imortal”, which she at least can figure means “Immortal Destiny”, and for about a half an hour she tries to pretend she speaks Portuguese and entertains herself during the commercial breaks by replaying every chance she had to score a goal.

There were a lot of missed chances. In the philosophical space between a toaster commercial and yet another car commercial, Alex decides that a game of missed chances is worse than a game with no chances at all. The vampires on her screen give each other loaded, presumptuous looks like hormonal teenagers playing at romance and she tries a quad stretch, sighing heavily.

She checks Instagram and immediately regrets it. Everyone looks ecstatic, and the longer she stares at the pictures Kelley’s posted the more she’s convinced she can hear the team’s laughter and shouts from here. In particular it’s as if she can hear Abby’s voice, even after she clicks the lock button on her phone. It’s only once she mutes the TV that she realizes she really _can_ hear Abby’s voice on the phone.

It sounds like she’s probably on the phone with Heather or Hope, and Alex misses them so fiercely for a moment that she feels like crying. That, she _would_ like to chalk up to jetlag. She feels only moderately bad about overhearing the end of Abby’s conversation, considering that most of the hall could hear it, too if they were there, but it at least prepares her for the knock that inevitably comes at her door.

Abby has a specific knock, five fast and two slow, as if people don’t usually already know it’s her. For a moment Alex thinks about pretending she’s asleep; she knows it’ll be hard to face Abby after an hour or two of re-living that ninety minute nightmare, but she thinks of Abby standing out there wondering where she is and decides against it.

As soon as she opens the door she smiles, but it’s the smile of someone who has no earthly idea what’s going on. Abby’s holding a paper plate with a slice of cake on it that’s so big the plate is bending under the weight and a Spongebob-themed party hat that is clearly child-sized, the elastic digging into her neck and leaving a mark that Alex doubts she even notices.

“You have to have a piece,” Abby says, holding out the cake, “everyone has to, or it’s bad luck.”

Alex lets her in, taking the plate just because the way Abby’s holding it makes her afraid it might turn over onto the carpet. “What’s bad luck for a three year old?” she asks, closing the door behind them, “Spongebob gets canceled?” Abby mock-gasps, or maybe truly gasps, plucking the party hat off her head and chucking it at Alex’s back. “We’re in the middle of a tournament, Morgan. Just eat the damn cake.”

Alex settles onto the armchair in the corner of her room, and Abby plops down onto the cheap wheeled chair that goes with the cheap desk where both Ali and Alex’s makeup bags take up all the space available. She spins the chair, predictably, in a quarter-circle a few times like she has to entertain herself. Alex looks down at the behemoth slice of cake and pokes at it with her fork, shaking her head. 

“Abby, there’s no way I’m going to be able to eat this whole thing.”  


“Don’t look at me, Christie cut it. Anyway, I’ve already had a piece. And I only brought one fork.”

Alex takes a bite and almost makes a face at how sweet the icing is. The cake is heavy, clearly from here and not from home, and even though she likes it she can only stomach a few bites before the thought of taking another makes her sick. Abby sighs as if she’s deeply disturbed by the idea of that much cake going to waste, and Alex shoves the plate at her, fork and all. 

She’s always preferred sour stuff, anyway.

“I already had a piece,” Abby says, but it’s clear she says it only for accountability’s sake because she takes the plate, the fork, and a bite without looking the slightest bit apologetic. Alex smiles but hides it, turning back toward the TV as if she still knows at all what’s going on (or ever did, for that matter).

“What’re you watching?” Abby asks through a mouthful, and Alex shrugs. “The Portuguese version of Twilight, or something,” she replies, but she knows exactly what conversation they need to have. She just hopes that if she puts it off long enough it’ll get easier to have. Her assist to Abby’s goal is the only part of that game that she’s at all satisfied with and she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Abby knows that.

“Everyone has shitty days,” Abby says, and Alex’s blood boils. “You don’t have to do this,” she replies rapidfire, snapping her eyes back to Abby from the TV screen, “you don’t have to try to make it okay.” Abby looks surprised for a moment, but then she shrugs, digging into the cake again and dropping her eyes. Somehow that’s worse than if she’d risen to the challenge, and Alex grits her teeth, trying to understand her sudden and misplaced anger. 

“I’m not trying to talk down to you. You know that.”  


“I know.”  


“So then chill out. You sucked it up today, whatever. You still had a great assist. It’s one game.”

That’s what hits her, really, something about the tone of Abby’s voice or the way she brushes it all off like it’s nothing, and Alex digs her fingernails into her palms when she answers, surprised by the wavering of her own voice: “What if it’s not just one game?”

Abby drops the fork to the plate and sets it down in slow motion, like she’s afraid Alex will startle at any sudden movement. She licks her lips in slow motion, too, but she misses some icing at the corner of her mouth and Alex is distracted by it for a full three seconds before Abby speaks. 

“That’s what this is? Are you- you’re worried about your career?”

Alex leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. Abby has cut right to the heart of it too quickly for Alex to really articulate what she’s worried about. In essence, what she feels is that if she plays enough games like the one she’s just played, Christen or Sydney will be more than prepared to take her place.

“You’re indispensable. You’re _Alex Morgan_.”

She doesn’t answer.

“Doesn’t that mean something to you? The way people chant your name when you walk on the field? I mean, I don’t want to be- campy, or anything, but people love you for a reason. Pia loved you for a reason. Tom trusts you. He’s worked in this business long enough to know the difference between a burnout and a kid under pressure.”

“I’m not a kid,” Alex mumbles, but Abby just keeps hitting her in all the right places so when she says it she’s right on the verge of crying. Not crying out of frustration, but crying out of relief- that someone recognizes what she can’t really find the words to say. That Abby understands and cares enough to try to talk her down from the proverbial ledge.

Abby laughs a little, warm and affectionate, and when Alex opens her eyes she sees that Abby’s kneeling in front of her and the armchair, bracing herself with her hands on the armrests so that she can look Alex square in the eye. 

“No, you’re not a kid. You’re a game-changer.”

Alex laughs at the seriousness of Abby’s words in juxtaposition with the icing at the corner of her mouth and the half-eaten cake in the background, but Abby stays stone-faced.

“Abby.”  


“You’re a game changer, and you’re a life-changer. Say it.”  


“Come on.”  


“Say it!”

The more she laughs, the more she wants to get rid of that icing. Up close it’s more distracting than when Abby had been sitting a few feet away, and Alex doesn’t realize she’s staring for a heartbeat or two. When she realizes she flushes, because that means she’s been staring at Abby’s mouth, and Abby probably noticed, and even though their off-the-field chemistry has always matched their on-the-field chemistry, Alex doesn’t want to fuck anything up. The laughter dies where it bubbles in her throat and she takes a deep breath.

“I’m a game changer.”

Abby raises an eyebrow.

“And?”  


“And I’m a life-changer.”

The air hangs heavy between them after she says it. Abby doesn’t quite look satisfied, but instead looks searching, as if there’s something she thinks she’s missing. Alex feels her spatial awareness rise a notch the longer Abby stares at her, and something that she’s only entertained in theory becomes her lurching forward a few inches towards Abby’s mouth.

She doesn’t make it all the way. She chickens out about 80% of the way there and freezes, her heart beating as if she’s gone from a full sprint to a full stop. When she dares to lift her eyes to Abby’s, she finds surprise there, but not disgust. Abby’s eyes drop to Alex’s lips, and that’s the green light she needs to go the rest of the way.

She’s not sure what she expected. Abby’s lips are soft, and she doesn’t feed into the rush right away. It’s a slow kiss, and it’s a chaste kiss, and it’s exactly the opposite of what Alex was going for. That seems to be the theme of the day.

They pull apart a little but their lips still just barely touch. Alex draws in a breath through her nose and licks her lips; she can taste the icing from Abby’s and isn’t surprised at all when Abby’s hand comes up to her face and their lips crash together again. This is the kind of thing Alex was going for, with energy and intention reminiscent of the way they play together on the field. Abby rests an elbow on the armrest, her hand sliding around to the back of Alex’s neck, and Alex fists her hands into Abby’s shirt at the sides and drags her up onto her knees.

Abby leans forward against the chair, resting between Alex’s knees, and the hand on the back of Alex’s neck drops to her knee. Alex lifts her own hands to Abby’s jaw and licks into her mouth, her entire body on fire, completely ignoring the uncomfortable position and the chances of Ali walking in at any moment. She doesn’t care. She’s a game-changer.

Both of Abby’s hands are on her knees and sliding up over her yoga pants. When they stop again they stop on her upper thighs, she pushes her hips forward toward the edge of the chair, and Abby’s fingers hook into the top band of Alex’s pants before they pull apart again, breathless. Alex curls her fingers into the collar of Abby’s shirt and breathes, surprising herself by how unsurprised she is that they work together like this. They work together almost every other way- why not like this? Abby’s fingers stay where they are, just at the hem of her pants, and she lifts her hips, trying to get a point across, her breath fanning over Abby’s lips.

Abby kisses her again and leans forward just as she tugs Alex’s yoga pants away and tosses them to the floor. Alex snakes one hand around Abby’s waist to the back of her shirt and tugs until Abby pulls away long enough to get rid of it, but Alex isn’t allowed any time to appreciate the skin she’s uncovered before Abby’s at it again with her hands on Alex’s thighs. She tilts Alex’s head back with one hand and kisses along Alex’s jaw and neck, her other hand inching up Alex’s thigh. The armchair’s almost not big enough to accommodate the change, but Alex manages, one hand splayed over Abby’s back, just between her shoulders, and the other braced on the armrest. 

Abby shifts her weight to one side and Alex can feel the muscles flexing under her palm, which distracts her just enough that she forgets the hand between her legs until it’s really between her legs and she sucks in a strangled breath, fingers digging into the armrest and Abby’s back. Abby’s lips worry at her pulse point, enough to raise goosebumps but more than likely not enough to leave a mark, and Alex rocks her hips up, wanting the last barrier between them gone. 

It happens in a rush and she doesn’t remember later how her underwear disappeared or how she ended up fully sitting, resting on the edge of the armchair with Abby kneeling in front of her, with Abby’s teeth scraping her shoulder and one of her own hands buried in Abby’s hair. She doesn’t remember how it happens, but it happens. Abby brings her to breathlessness and Alex holds herself there, unwilling to let it end until Abby mouths against the collar of her t-shirt and speaks for the first time in minutes, her tone reassuring as if the tremors starting in Alex’s lower back are a question: “Yeah, Alex.” What she means is that it’s okay, and it _feels_ okay.

Alex’s head is thrown back and the only thing still keeping her even remotely upright is her grip on Abby, who, after Alex stops shaking, lowers her back against the back cushion of the armchair and lets a breath out against Alex’s neck. Alex relaxes, finally, and the hand in Abby’s hair strokes through it for a moment before something catches her eye.

“You’re not gonna finish that cake, are you?”


End file.
